dandelion

Her head is white, sticking
Out of the green and the grey;
She stands tall, all hollow,
All proud till
All is ready, all set —
And now she waits.

Summer is coming, its winds
Will dry the world, carry
Her children to places
She will never go, beyond
The reach of the sight or the heart —
Redefining the new.

And then, naked, she will
Wilt, collapse to the ground,
Embraced by her beginning,
Where the root in its darkness
Will carry on.

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